Tag, You're It!
by Arsenic Kisses
Summary: Little Christine Daae has been playing tag with Erik for as long as she can remember. But what happens when she finds that the Angel of Music, The Opera Ghost, and Erik are one in the same. Will her childhood affections be enough to save their love?
1. Simple Beginnings

I had this passing fancy about Erik and Christine playing tag, so I started writing about it and now I can't stop :p So, here's what I've got so far.

Disclaimer: Not mine :)

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Christine's breath was short and heaving. She had run from the top of the house, all the way to the orchestra pit. Meg had established the conductor's stand as base, and little Christine touched it now with a hand of quivering excitement. Madame Giry had gone out for the afternoon, so all of the little ballet rats decided to make a nuisance of themselves by playing hide and go seek in the theatre.

Sophie, Marie, and Suzette had all run off and hidden somewhere high up. Christine wanted to stay in one place, but found that everywhere she had gone to hide was far too obvious. The curtains were like a beacon of visibility despite her tiny size and the stage hands wouldn't let any of the little girls up in the rafters.

Meg had haughtily told them that 10 years old is not too young, but they laughed their surly, alcohol infused laughs and turned her about. Meg was only a year younger that Christine, but she didn't want to get on their bad side by hiding amongst the ropes.

" You can't live on base, Daae!" Called Jean-Pierre, the youngest boy in the company. He was leaning out of Box 5, sticking his tongue out like the little devil he was. Meg had already caught him, so now he was her snitch.

" You'd best get out of the Phantom's box before-"

" Before what? " he challenged, shaking his head from side to side like a Kabuki performer.

" Before I tell Meg how much you wanna kiss her!" The boy puckered his lips, his face not as pretty as it was moments ago.

He darted out of the box, wailing, " I'll get you, little mouse! Just you wait, Daae!"

" I'm on base!" She retorted, but knew that she had used up her 3 minutes of safety by arguing with Jean-Pierre. So she darted out of the pit and up the side stairs on the stage. Running parallel to the lip, she dashed into the wings stage right and up into the workshop rafters.

She darted past props, and under workbenches, listening for her petite pursuer. Christine skidded into the costume deck, a place used for storage during performances. She dashed under the leading lady's bodiless costume, taking refuge in her hoop skirt.

Jean-Pierre stopped short, creeping with the timid steps of a ballet dancer. Christine covered her mouth to stifle the puffing gusts of breath. He was moments from discovering her when Suzette bounded out from the pile of out of season backdrops, proclaiming " Catch Meeeeeeee!" to which the boy rounded about and focused on new prey.

Christine sighed with relief, safely tucked away in her tent. La Madonna would be piqued if she knew of the little ballerina's indiscretion. So, slowly, she crept out, keen gaze darting left and right for predators.

"I found you, Christine!" Meg hissed, her challenging little gaze burning the back of Christine's head The brunette sprinted, her boundless curls jumping in terror as the peach ribbon that held them together fell away. Down the stairs the little rats ran, tearing the satin of their shoes on the unsanded wood. Christine leapt in terror when Meg's grasp nearly pulled her tutu off. Christine ran towards the corridor of dressing rooms, stifling a scream of terror and delight. Never had a childhood game been so exhilarating!

Meg tripped over a stray rope and fell behind in the chase. But Christine didn't notice, she ran farther and farther into the dark corridors. The windowless section of the building was very grim during the day, when the managers ordered the gas lamps to be extinguished. But the girl was undeterred, even when in the midst of triumphant laughter, she ran headlong into a solid wall. A warm, human wall.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, falling backwards onto her bottom. The person she had run into towered above her, his body composed of sharp angles. He looked down at her with golden eyes glowing in the dim.

" What were you doing, child?" asked the man, his tone neither accusatory nor tender. Christine hade never heard such a voice in all of her life. Admittedly, she was very young.

" I was playing hide and go seek, Monsieur. But, in this version of the game, once you are found, you must be tagged."

" I see." he hummed, sounding rather amused. She swore she could see him smiling. It was hard get a good look at this aloof stranger, but she noticed that half of his face seemed to be more luminously white than the other. His eyebrow on that side was also rather immobile. The stranger held out his hand and help the little girl to her feet. Her head barely reached his waist and she notice that he couldn't be any older that 21.

" My name is Christine. I'm sorry to have knocked into you."

" If such a beating means more chances to meet you, I would not mind it so." She blushed a brilliant primrose and stifled a giggle.

" What is your name?" asked the inquisitive child. The man tensed for a moment before sighing.

"...Erik." Christine touched his hand, the baby fat of youth still making her hands soft and pudgy. His boney fingers encased hers with a gentleness his notorious title was not known for. Being the Phantom of the Opera did not warrant such tender affections from frolicking children.

" May I tell you something?" he asked politely. She gazed up at his glowing eyes and nodded.

" I think I shall play this game with you. Would you like that?" Christine smiled so brightly, Erik swore the entire corridor lit up.

" Oh yes, Monsieur!"

"Very well," he hummed, touching the tip of her upturned nose, " You're it!"

And with that, he vanished into the black, leaving little Christine in a delighted stupor.

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Updates to come soon :)

Sincerely,

DeMuerte


	2. Erik's Hat and His Warning

Chapter 2 is here. I was very please with the way this was received. Makes me want to write about my passing fancies more often!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Needless to say, the Madame was not pleased with the girls upon her return. Their need to play ridiculous games made her push the children twice as hard for the next two weeks. After one particularly hard day, Christine had run from the practice room as fast as she could. Her eyes were filled with tears of pain. She settled herself at the top the stairs that lead to the dormitories. Pulling off one of her little shoes, she touched the crimson that trickled from her cracked toenails. She whimpered and sniffled, ignored by the older ballerinas as they went down for their own rehearsal.

" Oh, why did we play that stupid game? Madame Giry hates me now."

" What for?" came a familiar voice. But Christine, throughly upset, answered without a thought.

" She blames me for Meg's twisted ankle. But, she started the game and it's not fair I get all of the blame!" Erik stepped out of the shadows and up the stairs. He looked just as he had 2 weeks ago, only now, his face was covered halfway in shadows.

" Erik!" cried the child, dropping her shoe in shock and excitement. Erik chuckled softly, picking up the little satin concoction, it's toe soaked with blood. He observed it critically, noting in his mind to have a talk with his old friend about this cruelty.

" Little Christine, don't worry. Games can be fun. Did you forget that you're it?" She crossed her arms huffily, her bleeding toes still dripping onto the step below. Erik drew forth a handkerchief and cupped it around her toes. She looked out from under her unruly curls. She observed this young man's eyes, so intent on their task as he stopped her tiny toes from smarting.

" Is the other foot bleeding as well?" Erik asked quietly. Christine removed her other shoe, but it revealed nothing but the healing cuts from another rigorous practice. Erik pressed his lips together, suppressing the rage he knew so well. He didn't realize how much he cared for this little girl. She had unfolded her arms and now reached out to touch his face. But Erik shot his head back, curtly shaking his head.

" What's the matter, Monsieur?" He breathed out, scared of being unmasked.

" Nothing, my dear." he smiled at her. She took the hat from his head quickly and placed it on her own. It slid over her eyes and the two laughed in the semi-darkness. Erik could not remember the last time he had laughed without sarcasm. She lifted the hat up and smiled.

" You're very kind to me, Monsieur."

" Am I? " he asked, moving for his hat. But, the little girl held firm to the brim, smiling a sly smile.

" No, no, Erik. This is mine." He chuckled deeply, an eyebrow arched.

"Oh really? And why, pray tell, is that?"

" Because," the girl giggled, " Now you're it!" She grabbed up her shoes, and ran into the dormitories. Erik sat in shock, laughing to himself. This child was an angel, set to him by some divine accident. He would dote on her, find ways to make her happy.

It was the only way.

- - - - - - - - -

" Erik!" The Madame gasped, hand to her throat in shock. Erik had entered her office in complete silence, still missing his hat. Giselle found this unusual, but thought nothing of it.

" You've been pushing the children very hard as of late, I've noticed." Erik mused, leaning against her desk and toying with a knickknack. Madame Giry swallowed hard, her eyes widened slightly.

" You have never mentioned it before."

" Yes, but then again, a harmless game of tag should not warrant such behavior, Giselle. They are children, after all."

" My little Meg twisted her ankle while chasing Christine Daae! They had to be taught a lesson."

"The children, or just _Christine?"_ The Madame drew in a sharp breath.

" Bleeding toes are part of the profession. She will become more acquainted with it when she begins pointe next month. I am simply preparing her for the pain."

" Giselle, I don't want this to happen again. Do I make myself clear?" When the woman moved to protest, the glow from his eyes silenced her. Has she forgotten to whom she spoke. He was master here. She bowed, expressing her forgiveness. Erik cleared his throat and left in a flurry of black wool.

He had made his point; Christine was safe.

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The next morning, Christine hurried into the studio early. She had bandaged her toes properly and managed to get her shoes on without much trouble. Meg was sitting off the to side, her ankle still bound tightly with splints. She was nearly well enough to get back to work and decided that Christine was not the cause of her pain. She was the one who had started it all. But, Christine didn't need to know that.

Christine tied her ringlets back with a crimson ribbon and began stretching. Jean-Pierre came sauntering in like he owned the place. His leotard was riding up in the back, neither of the girls were about to help out the little snob. The other's soon followed, but no one spoke to the brunette. Madame Giry entered, her eyes scanning the little starlets. She looked each one over, stopping a little longer than necessary at Christine.

" There is an angel watching over you, Christine Daae." she stated simply, her face not a austere as usual. Christine didn't know what she meant, but found that rehearsal that day was much easier than usual.

Every so often, she would look up with a smiled, her arms up to the sky and murmur:

_Thank you, Angel_.

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More to come :)

Sincerely,

DeMuerte


	3. An Angel and her Monster

Thank you to everyone who has favorited this story and left comments. I love the support and thank you for it :)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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" Erik, it is not fair how easily you find me! It takes me weeks to find you!" Christine was sitting atop a saddle in the horse's stable. It was midnight and she was past curfew. The thirteen year old had come to be rather fond of their game as the years had passed. Yet, she still maintained her childhood wonder about the entirety of the enterprise.

It was more common for him to disappear and her to hope and wish for his return. "Finding" was just waiting as far as she was concerned. She wasn't quite sick of it yet, but she was getting antsy. Erik was brushing a mare softly, the muted caramel of it's coat contrasting with his luminous, gloved hand. He was cooing to it softly, letting it have more oats than it should.

" Well," he answered after a time, " you are busy most of the day, Christine. I have much idle time; to do with whatever I please."

Christine hopped off the horseless saddle with caution. She tip-toed about the stalls, playing a private game. If she stepped on a piece of straw not in a pile, she lost. A perilous activity certainly, but she had become a much better dancer now that she had been in pointe for well over a year. Erik, turning about, saw her and suppressed a laugh.

" You'll catch flies with that tongue, dear." Christine looked up in shock, sucking it back into her mouth in embarrassment. The Phantom moved to brush the next horse, a steed aptly named Ivory.

" What else do you do when you're not playing our game, Erik?"

He smiled to himself," Nothing of import."

Christine pouted royally. He was always so vague. It was just that- he knew things about her and she knew next to nothing about him. She moved to Ivory's nose and pet it softly. The velveteen feel made her smile. Ivory pushed air out of his nose, blowing the curls off of her face. Erik hummed softly to himself, his cape and hat hung carefully on a peg by the door. Without these items, Christine could see his full frame, and the drastic angles that made up it's composition.

" I was wondering, Erik. You leave me clues every so often, and well, I was wondering if we could make a secret place to put them."

" Like...a box or cubby?" Erik thought, mulling over the idea with each stroke of Ivory's coat. Christine nodded vigorously.

" I just think I'll get better at finding you if the clues are always in the same place. And, we can stay in touch more often..."

His eyes shone as they always had, vigorous and brilliant beneath his noble brow, even if it was half concealed by his curious menagerie of masks. These were the little details that began to affect Christine in a new way. Ever since she had gotten " The Female Condition" 4 months ago, she found herself thinking of Erik in this way more and more. Now, she was admiring the way his hands gripped the brush like a precious stone and the sure line that his lip created. A line she could always count on.

And the sudden budding of Christine's womanhood had not gone unnoticed by the Opera Ghost. But he ignored it. She was Christine, the little girl with clumsy inclinations, an enchanting laugh, and mocha shaded eyes of youthful optimism... Erik mentally rattled the bars of his caged brain.

"Well, let me think upon it, Chrissy dear. Now, don't pout. I always find a way, don't I? Give me a smile, child." Christine couldn't help grinning at him, no matter how hard she tried. His hand gently tipping up her chin, he smiled back.

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Erik sat at his desk, staring at it. It wasn't a large box by any means. At most, it could hold 15 letters if they weren't sealed with large wax stamps. It had no lock, but it wouldn't need one. Christine would be the only one to know of it's location. He painted it with primroses and butterflies. They sat contentedly on the lid as if they had always been there. Erik had worked on it all night and now the only thing he had to do was get Christine and show her where it would go.

It was their secret. And for some reason, Erik found this thought exhilarating.

He was Christine's friend and confidante, just as soon as this box linked them.

_Their secret. _

An Angel and her monster.

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Thanks for reading! More to come!

DeMuerte


	4. Tag On the Rue Scribe

A/N: Hello all! I am SOOOO sorry for the wait. I have AP exams just around the corner and I've been buried under work lately. But luckily, I finished this chapter and can now bring it to you!

Disclaimer: I have no ownership of the characters, but lovingly borrow them here :)

" _Dear Chrissy,_

_I have a secret. It's not a big, important secret. No- it's a small trifle that I think you will enjoy. Would you like to hear it?" _

His letters always began with _" Dear Chrissy_", or a variation of it. The adolescent loved that way it looked in his crawling script. His 'y''s would dip down so low, that the tail of it would become a part of the word beneath it.

Siamese letters.

Twins.

She would always check the box for a letter. It's location under a secret door in the prayer candle chest was the perfect place. Beneath the piles of waxen hopes, they told each other all sorts of things. Christine would read hers the moment she got it. Erik would do likewise, both leaning against the wooden chest in the tiny chapel. But never at the same time. No, their schedule had worked itself out. Erik checked early morning and late into the night. Christine knew she usually had until 7 p.m. to write and deliver her next letter. Erik, likewise knew that his letter had to be in the box by 6 a.m. or she would not get it until after rehearsal. By then, she would not have time to respond. They had grown comfortable with this silent exchange in their primrose and butterfly anointed box.

This letter was one of her favorite types to receive. Erik liked to tell her little tidbits about himself and Christine, known as Chrissy, ate them up like the purest of chocolates.

" _This morning, my mind came upon the strangest notion. There is a lake beside my house filled with the most astounding varieties of fish! Each with it's own personality and needs. I often watch them swimming near the shores and wonder; If I had been born a fish, would I be spectacularly scaled, or piteously plain? What do you think, Christine? _

_Signed,_

_Erik"_

She giggled shamelessly at the thought of her best friend as a fish. She imagined him smiling his secret smile, teeth always under the curl of his upper lip. She then thought of herself as a fish, bobbing up and down beside him, her scales rather tawdry and humiliating next to his ebony ones, a sheen of emerald glittering in the diluted sunbeams. Pulling out her last piece of parchment and her quill, she lay reposed upon her stomach, two de-shoed feet dangling in the air as she went to writing.

_Dearest Erik, _

_I think you would be a fish of ebony, with graceful fins and the ability to walk on land! You'd paint pictures with coral and tell all of the other fish how silly they've been for not thinking of doing so sooner. And let us not forget a good old-fashioned game of tag! I would like to see your lake one day, Erik. It sounds like a marvelous place, where if we wanted to be fish, we could! I wouldn't mind being a fish, as long as I knew you were there._

_As for me, I was pondering something today too. There is a new diva here at the opera. The Managers needed a replacement since La Madonna took so desperately ill this week. Her name is Carlotta and I must tell you now, she seems to believe that she owns the place! I don't know how I would feel if I were La Madonna, but I do know this; Carlotta has not sung once since she's been here. And her pinched face looks even more pinched when she's angry. I don't know if you have seen her yet, but look out for her... Monsieur Bouquet calls her a " sumptuous harpy." I'm not quite sure what he means, but it can't be anything flattering._

_On my last piece of parchment, I ask: Where shall we play tag this week? Madame has been called away for a whole week and I can do as I please when we're not rehearsing with the rest of the company. _

_Sincerely,_

_Christine._

She marveled at their handwritings as she placed them side by side on the cobbled floor. While neat and beautiful, she found that hers lacked the flair that Erik's seemed to have. She would have been upset, but it seemed rather crude to seethe over something so trivial. And that thought brought the widest smile to her cheeks. She folded the letter, kissed it twice, and slipped into the box.

The next morning, she arrived in the chapel with a heavy heart. She has heard news that La Madonna's condition was worsening, and while they were not close, the diva had always smiled at the girl kindly. Christine moved aside the candles and opened the box. Inside was a letter under the twine that held together a fresh stack of paper. She opened the letter quickly and scanned the lines.

_Chrissy, _

_We can't have you running out of paper, now can we? Tell you what, in exchange for the gift, you give me a head start in tag tomorrow night. Does that sound fair? Meet me on the stage at 11:30 p.m. _

_Signed, _

_Erik._

_P.s. I__** have **__heard her sing, unfortunately, and I feel that Carlotta is nothing for you to worry about. She'll be gone soon._

She grew sad for La Madonna again, silently offering up her prayers to God for her. But, after her sadness subsided, she found that looking forward to a night of tag made it hard to do anything else.

Rehearsal went by in a whirl, and as all the others went dutifully up to bed, it was little Christine Daae- better at pointe, friends with a ghost- that snuck away to play.

"Erik..." she whispered in the gloom. A single candle was kept on the stage at night, and the girl was more that a little frightened. She felt the chill of fear pierce her bones and make a home there. But just as she felt she could no longer stand it, the gas lamps around the theatre ignited, full of life. And there he stood, in all of his mysterious glory, smiling.

" Chrissy, dear." he hummed. She ran up to give him a hug, one he returned if not a little stiffly.

" Shall we play, dearest?" asked he, to which she nodded. Then, he darted up to the back row and then through it. She let herself delay for a moment before dashing after him. Her legs burned in a new way, using her muscles in a practice other than dance.

" Erik?" she called in sing song, following his trail out into the grand foyer. She could hear him laughing in the cavernous space. She wondered how he hid himself so well. It was as if he lived in the Opera! His laughter flowed out the front door and Christine, near breathless with excitement, pursued. He was sitting atop a closed-up stall on the corner, one leg dangling softly.

" You're fast." She huffed, knowing the was the first time their game had really involved a chase.

" You're silly" he teased, leaping off the stall with the grace of a lion. They made a wide berth around each other, circling and suppressing titters. Suddenly, he bolted down the Rue Scribe, and she fell into chase behind him. She gained speed and closed distance. Then, with an outstretched hand, she grabbed onto his cape and dug her heels into the pavement.

Erik jerked backward violently and flipped head over heels. Christine fell to the floor too, and the pair shook with uncontrollable hysterics.

" You're it!" she guffawed, jumping up and darting away. He scrambled to his feet, following the labored, tittering sounds she made. But as she rounded a corner, she ran into trouble.

_Big Trouble._

Three men, all of which appeared ragged and unhealthy, looked up from a corpse they were picking dry of anything and everything. The young teen whimpered at the sight of such carrion behavior. And the murderers- they detested a witness. Before she could process it, they were advancing on the hapless child, muttering and brandishing bloody knives.

_" H-h-help..._" She whimpered, falling back on her behind and the heels of her hands. Just as all seemed lost, Erik, leaping like a great cat, stood over her and snarled. The men, pausing mid-stride, were between laughter and fear.

" What're you supposed to be?" the lankier of the three laughed in disbelief, showing off his unattractive, rotting teeth.

" Your worst nightmare, should you choose to proceed." He intoned with arctic bitterness. Christine was shivering, her whole body aching with fear. The fattest licked his lips as he stared at her budding breasts.

" Put that foul thing back in your mouth or I will feed it to the dogs!" Erik snarled, jaws snapping like a jackal. The men began their advance again, undeterred by his threats.

" Close your eyes, Chrissy..." he intoned softly. She squeezed her eyes together so tight, the darkness behind her lids lit up with fireworks. She heard flesh hitting flesh, men grunting and the roar of an animal.

_Her avenging gargoyle._

When all was said and done, she sat stock still. Erik stood, blood on his shoes, fire in his eyes, death at his feet. He turned about, and lifted a quivering Christine into his arms.

" It's alright, Chrissy, dear... I'm here." Christine, held like a child, glanced over his shoulder at the aftermath. She quickly shut her eyes again, taking comfort in him.

"_ Thank you...._" she managed just before the waves of unconsciousness swept her away.

More to come soon :)

Love,

DeMuerte


	5. Bonne Anniversaire

A/N: I am SOOOOOOOOO sorry it took so long to get this up! Life has caught up with me and I could not just sit down and slam out the story that was busting out of my head. But, I did, so here's the next chapter! Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: No ownership, no badness intended.

On the eve of her 14th birthday, Erik found her in bed, ill. A cold had settled on her young lungs, making her usually reserved breathing a wheezing effort. No one was around, as that night's opera was busy offending the city with Carlotta's wailing, and little Christine was alone and feverish.

" Christine, are you quite alright?" he asked, looming over her bedside with a brow drawn together in worry. She opened her eyes, glazed with the fever. Her lips drew into a smile as she reached up to touch his hand. They laced fingers.

" I'm very well, Erik."

" Don't be daft, child. You are ill." He looked about the room and spotted the wash basin. Removing his cloak as he walked, he observed the empty pitcher with disdain. He peeled off his gloves and hat and lay them over a chair he planned to place by her bed.

" You need water to cool your head. Have you eaten today, Chrissy dear?" The girl shook her head, the look of her face epitomizing queasy.

" I'll find some bread and cheese. I won't be long." Erik lifted the pitcher into his hands and spirited out of the room with it. He would not be seen if he snuck down the stairs and to the Madame's room for what was required. She usually slept off a day's work as the operas ran their course. When he reached his destination, he rapped on the door twice. The Madame, worn and half-awake, parted from the doorway when she saw him to her dressing screen for a robe.

" Giselle, Christine is sick. Have you water?"

" Yes, in my wash pitcher." she called, re-entering from behind the screen with a kimono over her undergarments. Erik poured himself a sufficient amount before speaking again. Madame Giry noticed his complete lack of outer garments.

" Bread and perhaps some cheese, Madame?" he ventured, looking at her. She gestured towards her table, where the aforementioned items sat content. Erik took what he would, not stopping to think of the Madame's needs.

" You are becoming rather careless, Erik. People will easily notice you, without cape or hat. Are you out of your mind or just enraptured with the child?"

" I am more inclined to ignore your questions as of late. Why are you consistently making an enemy of the child? She is not a demon."

" She is changing you, Erik. Look at the behavior in which you stand! Reposed, as if not a thing on this earth could disturb you."

" Nothing could shake the bedrock of my self-certainty, I assure you." Erik glowered at her. She was right, in a way. He was being far too reckless. But, this was no excuse for her negative emotions toward Christine.

" I am responsible for my own actions. Do stop making the girl accountable, will you?"

" But, Erik-!"

" Giselle, I shall not ask you twice. You know how Erik gets when you make him cross. I suggest you do not anger Erik further."

The good Madame Giry knew better than to speak again. She would honor his wishes, though her best senses shrieked at her to do otherwise. The two exchanged bows as he spirited himself away. Once quite alone, Giselle paced as she thought. Had it been so long ago that they were lovers? Surely not, as her 'errands' had only stopped a few weeks ago. Was it his lack of passion towards her that fostered her seething hate for the girl? After all, she was all he thought about, all he talked about. Giselle Giry returned to her bed, reclining with defeat. Things were not going to end well. It was up to her to protect him, no matter the cost to her emotions.

" Food, my child." Christine rose off the mattress on her elbows, her head lolling back slightly betwixt her shoulder blades. Quickly setting the feast upon the night stand, he drew the chair over and sat. Erik used his nimble hands to cradle her head, and she smiled with gratitude.

" Today is my birthday."

" I know."

" Tis a pity Papa isn't here. He always played my favorite song upon his violin...as much as I wanted...." Erik's malformed lip drew down at either corner. This simply wasn't fair. Not a present or sweet in sight, and what's worse, no violin. He nearly cursed M'sieur Daae for his mortal negligence. The man clucked his tongue and thought.

"What _is_ your favorite song, my dear?"

" Papa called it_, Fairies of the Glenn_...It was a sweet little folk song he wrote me as a lullaby...." Erik would find this song and play it. Improve upon it! He was a master composer, after all. Erik propped some pillows up behind her and eased her into a recline. He handed her a slice of cheese on bread before wetting a washcloth and pressing it to her forehead. Christine ate slowly, methodically. She wasn't hungry, but her stomach was burning.

" Thank you, Erik." she cooed between bites. Erik smiled that familiar smile, turning the washcloth over to renew the cool sensation. The opera was coming to an end, and the after parties would soon begin. Erik could hear the applause.

" I have to go, my dear." Erik said, putting on his things. Christine grabbed his wrist.

" Must you? You've only just returned!" He could see the desperation in her eyes. But if anyone saw him, he would be done for.

" I will return soon, I promise." Christine was not mollified, but could not do much about it.

" Bonne anniversaire, ma cherie." he whispered, moving out the door and to a secret passageway.

Did he not just say nothing could shake him, and now he was running from ballerinas! But, he could not help what he looked like. What would he do when Christine suddenly inquired about his face? Must he lie? He despised these loathsome thoughts and yearned to banish them. But somehow he could not....

"Where did you get the food, Christine?" Meg asked, sitting on the edge of the girl's bed. Christine liked Meg now. Their petty childhood grudges forgotten, the two got along as if they were of the same mother.

" My friend brought it for me."

" Who, you're imaginary friend?" Jean-Pierre teased, his developing face framed by awkwardly large ears. Christine silently hoped he would never grow into them. Meg, picked up her button-hook and threw it at him, followed by one of the shoes that it was needed for.

" Girls room, get out!" she snapped and the gawky teen huffed away. Meg, with her brilliant eyes, turned back to her friend and leaned in.

" Your friend, what is he like?" Christine felt like she shouldn't say anything. It didn't feel right to talk about him when he was not around. And Erik had always been her secret. But he never said not to talk about him, and it _was_ Meg.

" He's tall, and lithe....His hands are long and thin. He's got brilliant golden eyes and wears all black."

" Is he handsome?"

" Oh....I'm not sure...." Meg lifted her brows, midway through helping herself to the bread.

" How can you not know. You see him all of the time! Is he terribly plain, or something?"

" No, it's just....his face is sort of concealed behind....oh, it's so silly!"

" What? Behind a what?" Meg's excitement was palpable. Christine bit her lower lip.

" A mask." Meg's eyes widened.

" Oh, Christine! He sounds just like the Opera Ghost!"

" Who?"

" The Opera Ghost! He stalks about with a face of death concealed behind a mask forged from brimstone! He dresses as the darkness and does Satan's bidding! The walls sometimes run with blood if he's angry!" Christine was frightened, but swallowed hard to avoid it.

" He's not an evil man, Meg." Meg threw her arms up over her head. What a silly notion, calling Erik such a thing! Brimstone indeed!

" Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you." Meg sauntered away to change for bed. As Christine settled down, she thought of Erik. And then of Meg's ghost. They could not possibly be one in the same, could they? Erik was not a monster, and yet how could Meg jump to such a conclusion from such minor details? _What did all of this mean?_

_Thanks for reading! Please stay tuned for the next installment!_

Love,

DeMuerte


	6. Death of a Friend, Birth of an Angel

A.N: I am soooo sorry for not updating sooner. My muse went on vacation and I just could _not_ write! But, I did it. I pumped it out and the chapter is here! I do hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Erik and Christine do not belong to me, I am just borrowing them.

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"Erik, where are we going?" Christine laughed as he lead her blindfolded.. Up and up they climbed, and he felt his heart mirroring the rising excitement that radiated from her.

" Patience, Chrissy." he hummed. Her lips had a perfect pout upon them. Erik found it hard to deny her the information she sought. But a surprise was a surprise, and he would not be swayed.

" But what could-"

" Ssssh." He placed a soft hand upon her lips and the girl felt no desire to defy him anymore. He had always had this effect on her. She never venture to ask why. In fact, whenever she thought about it, a strange wave came upon her. She could not decipher what it made her feel, but she would always succumb to it. If she had been more learned of the world, she would have been scared out of her skull.

Suddenly, the wind rushed forth, whipping her hair off of her shoulders and above her head. She fought the rambunctious locks with her free hand, but to no avail.

" Move not while I set down the basket."

" Basket?" Erik let her hand free and set down his surprise. Moving behind Christine, he undid the blindfold. Christine drew in a breath of shock.

" Oh, Erik. It is wonderful!"

He took her hand and let her take a place on the blanket she would like. He had set this up in his mind so many times; the setting sun, the rising moon, and the way she was before him was nothing as he had imagined over and over, obsessively.

" Wine? It's very low in proof. Otherwise, I wouldn't advocate it." She nodded as he poured the each a glass of shimmering liquid. Christine took a tentative sip, enjoying the near fruity flavor. Some of the wine her Papa had preferred tasted heavy and robust. This was tangy and rather pleasant. Erik set out croissants and dainty finger sandwiches with care, not denying her steady gaze trained upon him for an instant.

" Is something troubling you, Christine?" he asked, wondering if he had forgotten butter.

" No, Erik. I'm just in awe. Did you set all of this up yourself?" The teen felt spoiled beyond belief. Food, fresh air, and the friend she had held so dear for so long. It felt so...so...

" Yes. I thought you needed an evening to relax, what with a new production underway and the recent passing on of La Madonna. It seems to be getting to you, Dear Chrissy."

It was not just that. It was the Opera Ghost. He was something she knew of, even before Meg had explained. Why she had forgotten this fact was strange to her. She had been so absorbed with Erik for so long, she had forgotten something as basic as the Opera house haunt.

" Erik, have you heard of the Phantom?" His blood ran cold, his face slack.

" In passing, dearest, in passing. Why?"

" Well, everyone around here talks about him. You know the Opera so well, I was just wondering if..."

" If I had ever run across him in my journeys?" Christine felt an ominous cloud settling above them, but she wasn't sure why.

"Yes." Erik has feared this moment for so long. He had always wondered, in the back of his mind, when she would make the connection. Now, he had to deny it, make sure that their meetings could continue.

" I have not met him personally, my dear, but it seems as if everyone else has." She touched his hand, forcing his gaze up.

" Erik, I'm sorry to have upset you."

" You have not-"

" I know when you are upset. You tuck your lower lip under your teeth, ever so slightly." Erik stopped his rampant thoughts and realized that it was true.

" I am sorry." She repeated. He took her hand up and kissed it. " Do not apologize. It is a passing mood. Upon the wind, it will go off and afflict another poor soul." He smiled at her, jovial once more. Christine stood up, taking a sandwich with her and began to explore the roof. Statues everywhere, she touched a few with respectful fingertips. She began to sing a little tune, humming at first, but then letting the sound grow.

And that is when Erik heard it.

Perfection itself, embodied in the little girl who ran into him that day, all those years ago. The little girl who played little games and clung to his every dream, fantasy, and trifling story. This creature housed the voice of Heaven itself. If he had loved her before, this assured him that there could never be another.

" Christine..." he whispered, watching her twirl and sing, half eaten finger sandwich in her hand. She returned to the blanket with a giggle.

" Do you like to sing, Erik?"

"Oh, very much so." he breathed.

" I hope to sing on the stage one day. It has been my dream for so long, and I cannot help but hope that it will come true. Does that make me foolish?" Her eyes were so bright as they stared into his very soul.

"Not at all." She smiled with bemusement.

" You speak so haltingly- are you feeling well?"

" Oh, very much so. I just- I have some news I do not think you will like." Her face dropped. He knew he could no longer be her mortal companion. He had to tutor this divine voice and make it even more. As a man, as a friend, he could not do it. He had to find some other way. But, being around her, it would not work.

" What is it?"

" I must go away...for awhile."

" What ever for?" she asked, a pout upon her lips.

" It is for business, my dear Chrissy. I shall return soon, but I regret to leave you." He did not expect her tears, or the moment she flung herself upon him.

" You were my only friend when I needed one most, and now you are leaving!" she cried. Erik allowed himself to stroke her hair.

" Do not cry. I will always be with you, and I shall be back before you know it." How he would return was what she would not expect.

" Will you still write to me?", she whimpered.

" I will try my hardest, Christine. Now, please,- dry your eyes. I cannot bear to see you cry." She did as she was told and when their picnic had ended, he lead her back to the dormitories. At the bottom of the stair, she held him close.

" Erik, do not go."

"I must."

" Please."

" Christine-"

" I shall be so lonesome when you are gone."

" I shall be back soon." This did not comfort her. Sadly, she moved to go. But, after a moment, she got upon her toes and planted a kiss upon his masked cheek.

" Au revoir, Erik. My dearest friend."

" Au revoir, My dearest Chrissy." For that moment, as he watched her climb the stair, he had wished that his mask could feel.

A kiss.

So simple.

So basic and human.

He had wished he was human, just so the tenderness from those lips could have really been his.

Now, his work really began.

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In the next month, he watched as Christine fell to despair. As no letter from him arrived, she grew more and more introverted. Depressed.

He felt so ill, watching this decomposition of the girl he loved so dearly. On the night of one particular performance, as Christine languished in her dressing room, he decided it was time.

" My child," he intoned, voice echoing, " Why do you cry?" She was so startled, she jumped off of her stool.

" W-who are you?"

" I- am an Angel."

" Are you-?" she stopped, eyes so hopeful, " the Angel of Music? My father told me that you would come to me when I needed you most."

" I am" Erik could not believe it. He felt fortunate for the stories her father told her so long ago.

" Oh, thank you, Angel!" She held her hands in prayer, on her knees in supplication.

" Your father has seen your suffering. The loss of your friend."

" Loss? Oh, yes...Erik..." Her eyes filled with tears once more.

" Do not cry. He is far off, but I have observed that he thinks of you often."

" Then why does he not write?" He could feel the betrayal she felt. It was palpable.

" He is very sick, Christine. He has not the strength."

" Oh, no! I have been so wicked, thinking ill of him!"

" No!" Erik intoned. " You are not at fault. It is his time to be with the Angels."

" But, he is so young! Surely, he should not have to die!"

" We do not choose when we shall go, but we must take the path of righteousness to get to eternity. He has done so. Do not fear for him." Christine bowed her head dutifully, though her face ran endlessly with tears.

" I will not, Angel." she cried.

" I am here to instruct you and be your guide. Do you wish this to be so?" Erik didn't like grieving her with his 'death', but if his plan was to succeed, he had to make sure he would not come back to haunt himself.

" I would be most honored."

" The tomorrow," he commanded, " the lessons begins." Erik left her then. He could not watch her cry over him. To face her pain was to face his own shame. And to help her, it was something he could not do.

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Hope you enjoy it. Update soon, I promise.

Love,

DeMuerte


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